BSC and the Mystery Murder
by EvilElena
Summary: Dori Wallingford has been murdered and the BSC saw it all! Now the killer is after them. What will the club do? Will the BSC finally be in over their heads? Super chiller!
1. Prologue

_Dear Mom and Watson, _

_Thanks for helping us through this whole thing. It was confusing, not knowing whether to tell and receiving a death threat ourselves. But you helped us to learn the lesson of going to people you trust. __Thanks again, __Kristy, Claudia, Stacey, Mary Anne, Dawn, Mallory, Jessi, Abby, Shannon, Karen, Margo, and Claire _

Dear Sunny,  
Hi! What's up? Not much here. Stoneybrook's sort of boring. Not as fun as California. There's nothing like sunny California. But Abby was sitting for Rosie Wilder and she told us about a circus that Rosie and her cousin Laura will be performing at! And the BSC gets to babysit them! We get to go backstage and everything. Remember when we took Clover and Daffodil to the circus? How are they, anyway? Bye, Dawn

_Dear Mallory, __Cheerio! How are you, dear? I'm sorry that I haven't written for awhile, but Brett wanted to send a note to your sister Claire. __HI, CLAIRE. HOW ARE YOU, FRIEND? I HOPE THAT YOU COME TO ENGLAND LIKE YOUR SISTER MALLORY. I MISS HER AND I WANT TO MEET YOU. IMALLORY SAYS YOUR FIVE.AM FIVE, TOO. FROM, BRETT _

_Mallory – Brett is right, I hope you and your wonderful family will visit soon!_

_Tallyho, Your loving cousin, Gillian_

Dear Gillian,

Cheerio back! And a cornflake, too. Ha ha. How are you doing? Claire wanted to write back to Brett. Maybe she will follow in our footsteps and be a writer, too. I am proud of her but not surprised. After all, Shakespeare is in our blood. Anyway, this is from Claire. DEAR BRETT SILLY BILLY GOO GOO, HOW ARE YOU, FRIEND? I AM FIVE. I WOULD LIKE TO VISIT YOU EVEN THOUGH YOU ARE A BOY. FROM, CLAIRE PIKE.

Don't worry, she calls everyone silly billy goo goo. She's going through a silly stage.

Tallyho, Your cousin, Mallory Pike

_Dear Laine, __Well, I am out of the hospital. My diabetes is under control and now I am back to normal. This letter has to be very very very very very short cuz I gotta go, __Stacey M. _


	2. Mary Anne

"Now," my science teacher Ms. Garcia droned, "we were talking about pollution."

But I wasn't listening. My friend Claudia daydreams all the time, but I usually pay attention in school. Not today, though. All morning my brain had been turning to mush (not really, but that's how it felt).

It was Thursday and I was already more than ready for the weekend to come. Weekends are always great, but this one was going to be even more special. My friends in the Baby-Sitters Club (more about that later) and I had been invited to watch Rosie Wilder, a girl we baby-sit for a lot and her cousin Laura (a new charge) perform "The Star Spangled Banner" at Marky's Circus. I couldn't wait. My friends and I love circuses. We even put on a circus camp for some of our charges last summer. It had been a long time since any of us had actually been to a circus, though.

I closed my eyes and thought about the circus. Lions, and tigers and bears. Rosie and Kimberly looking adorable as they perform perfectly. One of our baby-sitting charges (some little sisters of my friends had been invited along) getting picked to ride an elephant. My friends and I laughing hysterically at the clowns…

"Mary Anne? Mary _A-anne_?" Mrs. Garcia was calling me.

"Hmm?"

Mrs. Garcia sighed. "Never mind."

Fortunately, the bell rang before she could say more. It was time for lunch. I walked through the hot lunch line, and paid the cook.

I looked at my tray. Ravioli, garlic bread, peaches, and chocolate milk. Disgusting.

I sat at the regular table of the Baby-Sitters Club. My friends were already there, eating. I took a look at their lunches.

Like me, Kristy Thomas had the hot lunch. She was examining her ravioli and I knew she was going to come up with some disgusting comment about it. Kristy always makes gross jokes about the hot lunch, even though she knows I don't like her doing this (I have a very weak stomach.) Kristy is not mean, though. She is loud and somewhat bossy and does not always think before she speaks. I love her anyway. She is one of my two best friends.

Guess what? My other best friend, Dawn Schaffer, is also my stepsister. She is quite different from Kristy, both in looks (Kristy—and I—are both short with brown hair and brown eyes, while Dawn is tall with long, _long _pale blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She's from California) and personality. Kristy is very intense. She is always thinking up these great ideas (like the BSC) and carrying them out. Dawn is much more laid back…except for when it comes to protecting the environment. Dawn is _very _passionate about saving our Earth and will not stand for people who try to destroy it in any way. Dawn is also very passionate about taking care of herself and eating right. She is a near-vegetarian who never, _ever _eats junk food (her mother is the same. Since my father and I enjoy the occasional hamburger or ice cream cone, this made for some very tense meals at our house for awhile.) Her lunch consisted of brown rice, a salad(the rice and salad were stored in tupperware containers… Dawn never uses plastic bags), an orange, a slice of cheese, and all natural iced-tea(in a thermos).

"Look at this." She announced, showing us the tote bag she had packed her lunch in. "Don't you ever wonder how many hundreds of lunch bags people waste each day by throwing them away?"

"Not like you do." Kristy cracked. Dawn just shook her head and ate some rice.

As I picked at my ravioli, I noticed my friend Abby Stevenson was only eating an apple. "Don't tell me that's all you're eating." I scolded her.

"I never have time for big lunches these days." Abby said. "I always have to go to practice."

"Oh yeah, that's right." I am usually organized and efficient, but even I have a hard time keeping track of Abby. She's a lot like Kristy—outgoing, athletic, and always active. Abby is also very upbeat and has a great sense of humor. She suffers from asthma (and about a million allergies), but Abby does not let that, or much of anything else, get her down. Abby was madly plowing through her apple, while most of my friends chuckled at her mock-harried expression.

Claudia Kishi, though, was silent. She had an enormous lunch spread out around her: a ham sandwich, a pear, Fritos, Oreos, a peppermint stick, and a Coke (she's a junk food addict, but she never gains weight or gets pimples). Claudia was not eating, though. She was gazing in the distance. Since Claudia is an artist, I thought she might be thinking of a painting.

Abby stopped eating her apple and waved a hand in front of Claudia's face, "uh, Earth to Claud."

Claudia looked up, startled. "Guys, I've been a real space case about this circus stuff."

Stacey McGill, Claudia's best friend, laughed. "Me too. I daydreamed in every single class."

"You?" Abby cried, a mock-horrified expression on her face. "You're much too sophisticated for that, Anastasia."

Stacey laughed again, and so did the rest of us, even though what Abby said was true. Stacey is smart and very sophisticated—not surprising since she was born in _New York City _(I wish I had been. I want to move to NYC when I am older). She is also beautiful with long, fluffy blonde hair (she gets it permed) and large blue eyes (Claudia, who is Japanese American, is beautiful too. She and Stacey are also the coolest dressers in school. It is not surprising they're best friends). I wish I could be a little bit more like Stacey (I am shy and not nearly as trendy a dresser), but she has something I do not want: diabetes. While the rest of us (except for Dawn) can enjoy all of the junk food we want, poor Stace is not allowed to eat sweets. They can make her really sick. She also has to take shots (ew, ew ICK! I hate needles!) of something called insulin each day, since her body cannot produce it. Like Abby with her asthma, Stacey keeps a positive attitude about her diabetes and about life in general.

"I daydreamed, too." I confessed, and my friends laughed yet again. They were more gentle. I am very sensitive. My boyfriend Logan (yes, shy Mary Anne Spier has a boyfriend) says I cry at sad commercials. I think my friends were worried I might burst into tears right at the lunch table, but of course I did not. I was much too happy.

"Well, just think. Tomorrow we'll be cheering for Rosie and Laura at the circus," said Kristy. She ate a peach.

"Oh say can you see," sang Abby in a high, shaky voice.

We were giggling at that when a voice spoke up from behind me, "Can I join you guys?"

It was Dorianne Wallingford, a sophisticated eighth grader who is mostly a friend of Claudia and Stacey, though we have all started to get friendly with her.

"Were you talking about the circus?" Dori asked, as she sat down with her lunch—a carton of huckleberry yogurt.

"Dori, don't tell me that's all you're eating!" I couldn't help exclaiming. I may be shy, but I am also compassionate and Dori is much too thin to be eating only yogurt for lunch.

Dori gave me a dirty look. "You sound like my mom. She's always bugging me about not eating enough."

"Sorry." I squeaked, stung by her dirty look (see what I mean about being sensitive?) Dori was still looking sad and left out, so I decided to make peace.

"We were talking about the circus." I told Dori. "We're all going tomorrow with some kids. Would you like to come?"

Kristy looked at me with surprise. We don't usually invite non-BSC members to go places with us.

Dori's face looked like a Christmas tree. "I would love to come along!" She exclaimed, and we spent the rest of the lunch period talking about the circus.


	3. Dori

Friday morning, I woke up and immediately got dressed in a pair of Calvin Klein jeans and a midriff-baring pink top. I brushed my shoulder-length, shimmering brown hair and looked in the mirror. I thought my wide-set brown eyes looked sad. I sighed.

My name is Dorianne Renee Wallingford, but everyone calls me Dori. I don't have any brothers or sisters, and lately I'd been feeling lonely. I felt like my good friends had all deserted me, too. I wondered if I was growing away from Emily, Pete Black, and Rick Chow. I'm starting to get more serious about my dancing and singing, while all they care about is the newspaper and goofing off. (I want to be a Broadway performer in a few years.)

But on the plus side, I'd started hanging out more with some casual friends – Claudia Kishi, Stacey McGill, and their crowd. They were all cool. The only trouble was, they're all really into baby-sitting. I personally think kids are big pains. But the BSC had invited me to this circus tonight along with some kids and I was determined to have a good time.

I ran down three flights of stairs to the dining room.

"What would you like for breakfast… _Dori?_" my mom asked. She's always on my case because I'm so skinny and because I barely eat a thing, but what are dancer-singers like me supposed to be? Fatsos?

"Um…nothing?" I said as though it were a question.

"Dorianne, you are to eat _some_thing. Anything!"

I sighed. "Do we have any yogurt?"

"Huckleberry and boysenberry."

I quickly ate a small carton of huckleberry yogurt and left for school.

Later, at lunchtime, I glanced at Emily's table and saw Pete and Rick making one of their food sculptures. They'd stuck spaghetti noodles onto an apple for hair, and were trying to glue raisins on for eyes, using mashed potatoes as the glue. I rolled my eyes and decided to sit once more with the BSC.

"Hi," I said to Dawn Schafer, who was at the moment the only girl sitting at their table.

"Hi, Dori," she replied. "Are you looking forward to the circus?"

"Lots," I replied.

Dawn opened up a tupperware container and started to eat this brown rice mix. I don't know Dawn very well yet; she recently moved back here from California (she's always going back and forth between California (where her dad lives) and Connecticut (where her mom lives)) but I think she's a health food nut. The only junk food I've ever seen her touch is pretzels, and her juice is always unsweetened and organic and stuff like that.

"What are you having for lunch?" Dawn asked me with mild curiosity.

I shifted in my seat and said, "Um, nothing. I'm leaving at 11:35 to go to the library."

Abby and Kristy joined us. "Hi," Abby said breathlessly, wheezing a little. "Kristy just poured a bucket of water over Alan Gray's head in gyb class. I laughed so hard I thought I'd have an asthba attack right there!" We all grinned – not at poor Abby's asthma, but at Kristy pulling one over on her nemesis, Alan.

Dawn started to drink some herb tea from a thermos. "You guys should give Alan a break," she said. "Maybe we should invite him to the circus with us. I so cannot wait!"

"Me, neither," we all chorused.

We sat silently for a moment, munching food. (Or in my case, not.) I felt comfortable with these girls, I'd always found some of them a little dorky (except Claudia and Stace) but they were actually pretty nice.

Abby put her Cheetos down and unwrapped a tuna-fish sandwich. I thought she was allergic to tuna, but she told me that was shellfish she was allergic to. Dawn began to lecture Abby about innocent fish and how they used to kill dolphins just trying to get the tuna, but I tuned her out. Mary Anne came over with the hot lunch, which was noodles and chicken that looked slimy and pale, some cooked carrots, a cinnamon roll, and a carton of milk. Then Claudia strolled over with a Fudgsicle, and Stacey followed her, also with a hot lunch tray.

"Guys, I've gotta go," I said. All this food was making me feel slightly sick.

"Aren't you eating anything?" asked Mary Anne. I just shook my head and left.

When I got home, the first thing my mother said to me was, "Dori, what did you have for lunch?"

"Nothing," I answered her quickly, heading for the stairs. She blocked me.

"Dorianne Wallingford! Look at this!" Mom grabbed my wrist and put her thumb and pinkie around it. They went all the way around, with about half an inch left.

"That is skin and bones! _You're _skin and bones! Eat! EAT! _EAT!"_

"I don't wanna eat," I muttered.

"Do you want to quit dancing?" my mother threatened. "If this is what being on the stage is doing to you…"

"Mom, that's not fair!" I cried in protest.

"Then, eat!"

I stomped upstairs to my bedroom. I'd show her.

She might be able to stop me from dancing, but she could never stop me from singing. I flopped onto my pink canopy bed and idly began to sing The Star Spangled Banner. I wished it was me performing at the circus instead of some kid.

"Oh say can you see? By the dawn's early light. What so proudly we hailed…"

Mom called me for dinner a few hours later, and I ran downstairs. I couldn't help sulking. Mom had piled extra spaghetti onto my plate and given me practically a whole loaf's worth of garlic bread.

I picked at my food, not eating one bite. When Mom and Dad went into their bedroom, I got up from the table, ran to the garbage chute, and dumped the pasta and bread. I vowed to myself not to eat a bite until my mother left me alone … even if I died of starvation!


	4. Jessi

"Jessi! Dinner!"

Jessi. That's me. (Jessi is short for Jessica Ramsey.) The person calling me to dinner was my mama. I finished my _grand plie_, and did a quick _temps leve_ across the room for good measure (Mme Noelle would be pleased). Then I changed out of my ballet clothes into my outfit for tonight.

I looked in my full-length mirror. I hoped my bell-bottoms and my tight icy blue polo shirt were cool enough for the circus. I'm no fashion maven like Claudia and Stacey. I'm still eleven, and my parents still treat me like a baby. (So do my best friend Mallory's parents.) Most of what Claudia and Stacey wear, my parents wouldn't even _dream_ of letting me look at in the store! But I thought my new jeans and shirt would pass. The blue looked nice against my coffee-colored skin.

"Jessica Davis Ramsey!"

"I'm coming!" I called back. My bun was messy from practice, so I quickly fixed it and then ran upstairs from my basement studio.

Mama had made "breakfast at dinner." She was putting plates onto the table, which were piled high with toast, eggs, and bacon. My sister Becca was almost drooling just looking at the plates. I almost drooled myself. I try to watch my weight for ballet, but I'm not too serious about it (yet), and Mama is a great cook.

"Hi, honey," she said to me. "You need a good dinner. Tonight's your big night!"

"Thanks, Mama." I sat down, grinning at my baby brother Squirt, who was banging two spoons against his tray. Daddy joined us. Mama passed around glasses of milk and orange juice and sat down herself. I looked around and smiled. It was a nice family scene.

"So," said Daddy in his booming voice. "Are you excited about the circus, Jessi?"

"Very," I replied. "I couldn't even concentrate in school today!"

Mama smiled at me, showing a tiny dimple. "You'll have fun."

"Yes," I said. I took a tiny sip of my milk. Becca scowled at me from her seat. She was a little upset because Mallory managed to get her two youngest sisters tickets to the circus, and Kristy got her stepsister Karen a ticket. But by the time we tried to get Becca a ticket, they were sold out.

"It isn't fair that Rosie Wilder is famous and I'm not!" Becca whined.

I laughed. "You're too shy," I reminded her. (Becca didn't inherit my love for performing. She once fainted onstage during her class play!)

"So!" Becca protested. "Why does she get to be in the circus? It's not fair! It's-"

"Enough, enough," interrupted Daddy.

We finished dinner. At about six-forty-five, Daddy and I climbed into the car. He was driving me to the Stoneybrook Convention Center, for… the circus!

"Bye, Daddy," I said after he dropped me off. I kissed his cheek.

"Bye, baby," said Daddy. "I'll pick you up at 10 o clock!"

He drove away, and I ran inside the building. It was pretty crowded, but down the hallway I could see a sturdy figure with a mass of frizzy hair standing around looking lost.

"MALLORY!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. She ran to me. "Jessi!" she said. "Hello! You look so dibble!" (_Dibble_ is a word my friends and I made up. It means very, very cool.)

"You look dibble, too," I told her. Mallory was wearing blue knee-length spandex, and a baggy red cardigan over a white T-shirt with little red hearts on it. Her white push-down socks had little red hearts on them, and she was wearing blue high-tops. Mallory and I couldn't look less alike – I'm tall and graceful and black, with hair the color of coffee and eyes the color of deep cocoa, where Mallory is shorter and stockier, with red curly hair, glasses, braces, and pale skin. She hates her nose and overall doesn't think she is very pretty, but sometimes I look at her and I can see that one day she'll be a real knockout. I wasn't just being polite when I said she looked dibble in her outfit!

"Claire and Margo are back in Rosie and Laura's dressing room with the other girls," said Mal. "Let's go!"

We walked down a hallway and found the door that said in tiny black letters, LAURA AND MARY ROSE WILDER. I knocked on the door. Miss Jewell, Rosie's manager, answered.

"Why, hello, Jessica and Mallory."

"Hi," we murmured.

"Most of the girls stepped out for a minute," said Miss Jewell. "But some others are here, as you can see. Come on in! Make yourself at home!"

I looked into the room and saw Stacey busily smearing lipstick onto Rosie Wilder's lips. Stacey noticed us at the same time. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," Mal and I said back in unison, just a little shyly. Stacey likes us, but she likes Claudia and Dori and Dawn better.

Just then, Kristy burst into the room, along with her little stepsister Karen (who's seven) and Mallory's sisters Margo and Claire (who are seven and five). "Yo!" Kristy greeted us. "We had to take a trip to the bathroom."

"Ooh," cooed Karen. "I am _at _the circus! I am in a dressing room. I am gigundoly excited!" She hopped from one foot to another.

"I am gundoly excited," Claire tried to imitate.

Abby, Mary Anne, Dori, Dawn, and Claudia straggled in, and soon we were all back in the dressing room. I was enchanted. I might be a ballerina, but I love everything that has to do with the stage. Operas, plays, singing, dancing… Becca wasn't alone. A part of me wished it were _me _singing the National Anthem at the circus.

But just then, Miss Jewell said to me, "Jessi, I know you have a lot of experience onstage. Would you like to lead Rosie and Laura in their rehearsal?"

_Would _I? My face lit up as my friends all patted me on the back. "Okay, Rosie and Laura," I said, trying to cover up my nervous. "Let's start with a warm-up."

"I know one," Shannon contributed. She looked at me questioningly and I nodded. Shannon began to sing up the scale. "You-ee, you-ee, you-ee, you-_ee_."

Rosie and Laura echoed her. "You-ee, you-ee, you-ee, you-_ee._" Then I taught the girls a strategy of doing push-ups to get rid of their stress. Together, we led the girls in a wonderful rehearsal!

Half an hour later, the circus was about to begin. The BSC was seated in the front row. I was nervous. I didn't know why. But I felt like I was a part of the girls' performance.

Mallory clutched my hand. I clutched hers and squeezed it as the lights dimmed. A ringmaster's voice came over the loudspeaker.

"Hi everybody, and welcome to the best show in the world, Markie's Circus! Today we have bareback riders, tightrope walkers, trapeze artists, acrobats, and much much more! But right now, with our National anthem, heeeeeere's … Rosie and Laura Wilder!"


	5. Mallory

Laura and Rosie ran out into the middle of the circus ring, Laura carrying an American flag. The audience cheered wildly. The BSC cheered loudest of all! Kristy even put her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. "Go Rosie and Laura!"

Laura hopped onto a piano, which Rosie began to play. (Rosie Wilder is so dibbly talented!)

"Oh, say can you see…" Laura sang in a clear, sweet voice.

"By the dawn's early light…" Rosie joined in in her own canary-like voice.

We watched with pride. _Just think, _I thought. _Rosie and Laura might become famous after this performance – and I, Mallory Pike, can say I knew them when!_

Mallory Pike, that's me. I should probably tell you my name so that you're able to follow my story. (My creative writing teacher, Mr. Dougherty, says it's important for the reader to develop a rapport with a story's protagonist. I would like to be a writer someday.)

Claire, my littlest sister, turned to me with a big Cheshire cat grin. "Rosie silly billy goo goo is a star!" she cried. I ruffled Claire's hair.

I have the biggest family in the BSC, and I was glad to have my two youngest sisters Margo and Claire with me at Markie's Circus. (My other siblings are Adam, Byron, and Jordan, who are ten-year-old triplets, Vanessa, who is nine and speaks in rhyme, and Nicky, who is eight and misunderstood. They couldn't come to the circus.)

"They are too too beautiful up there!" added Margo.

"They are," I agreed, watching the girls sing in their red white and blue sequined leotards. Just then, Rosie and Laura finished their song and ran to the bleachers to watch the show. They sat down right in front of the BSC.

"How were we?" Rosie asked shyly.

"You were great! Fresh! Dibble!" we answered enthusiastically.

"Can I have your autographs?" asked Claudia, who has a special bond with the Wilder girls. Rosie ducked her head and signed a circus program for Claud. Guess what? Three more people asked the girls for their autographs!

Then the show started. It was _so_ dibbly distant! We saw lions, tigers, bears, and trained elephants. Dawn wasn't happy about the animals, but she calmed down when she saw the trapeze artists. "I think Hayley Mills played a trapeze artist in a movie once," Dawn said (Hayley Mills is this kid actor from the sixties that Dawn loves).

We saw clowns, magicians, and acrobats. We saw alligators, bearded ladies, and purple fuzzies, too. Then the kids said they were hungry, so we all (well, everyone except Dori and Dawn) pigged out on peanuts, popcorn, and cotton candy.

I wanted to stay inside that convention center forever! But at 10:00, the show was over and we had to go.

I wandered after my friends, thinking of stories I could write about the animals. I imagined a hip jungle tiger… Estella? No (I glanced at Jessi) _Mobobwee_. Mobobwee was a wild tiger with an adventurous streak. She liked the jungle, but she dreamed of exploring the world. So she stowed away on a ship, winded up in America, and joined up with the circus…

Abby interrupted my train of thought by suggesting, "Let's go wait in back. That's where we got dropped off."

"Okay," agreed my friends. So we walked outside to wait for our parents. We stood, talking amongst ourselves, for about ten minutes. I told Jessi about my story idea and she nodded enthusiastically.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Claire spoke up. "I'm tired," she said. So I picked her up. Jessi picked up Margo, and Kristy picked up Karen.

"Let's tell stories," I suggested. I was all ready to tell my friends the story of Mobobwee the tiger but then Dawn beat me to the punch. _Rats, _I thought.

"Okay," said Dawn. "Mine's a ghost story that I heard about Markie's Circus."

I should have known. Dawn _loves_ ghost stories.

Dawn began her story. "It was in 1910, when Markie's Circus was first established. Marcus Sampson, the owner, wanted to put together the greatest circus of all time.

He had plenty of acts. There were lions, tigers, bears, elephants. But greatest of all was the great trapeze artist, Shelly Nichols."

"Shelly was very famous," Dawn continued. "She performed for three years. Everybody loved her and came from miles to see her. Until that fatal Sunday night in 1913."

"Markie's Circus was being held right here in this very building. It was time for the trapeze act. Shelly was hanging on to the trapeze by one leg – when it happened…"

"Did she die?" I asked, wide-eyed. I could feel my heart pounding underneath my cardigan.

Dawn sighed. "Yes. Shelly Nichols fell and died. But she's … _still here_ with Markie's Circus, which is now owned by Marcus Joseph Sampson the Third."

"Still here?" Karen shrieked.

"Yes," said Dawn. "Performers everywhere say they hear Shelly's friendly voice wishing them luck before the show. The oldest worker, who was just six when Shelly died and is now working as a cook, once had a very scary encounter with her in the kitchen."

Mary Anne, Margo and Claire screamed. I did, too. I couldn't help it. What a creepy story!

Fortunately, Shannon jumped in before we could all get too creeped out. "My turn," she said. "My turn."

She began her story. "This is a true story. It happened to me when I was four. I was at my mother's company picnic. I was eating some potato salad when my mom's boss announced, 'All little kids ages 3 to 6, come on down to a pie-eating contest!' Well, of course I wanted to sign up. So did Tiffany, but she was only two and a half, so she couldn't."

"Anyway, I was walking by myself, looking for the pie-eating contest, when this man came up to me. He says, 'Oh, I bet you're looking for your mommy.' And I say, 'No, I'm looking for the pie-eating contest.' And he says 'Pie-eating contest, eh? Let me take you there.' So he grabbed my arm and took me to this maroon van. 'Get in', he said. I climbed into the front seat, and he drove me to this shack. He had found out how rich I was, and kidnapped me!"

"So I stayed there for about two days," Shannon went on. "I was so scared. He wrote all these ransom notes. Finally, Mother and Father paid the ransom and came and got me. I was so scared."

"Freaky," said Karen. The rest of us just listened. I didn't even know what to say. None of us knows Shannon very well and I definitely didn't know she ever went through something like that!

All of a sudden, this man appeared. I realized we'd been standing waiting for our parents for about half an hour. I didn't know about my friends, but after Shannon's story, seeing that man made my heart speed up like a horse's hooves. (I just love horses.) I glanced at Jessi and saw her gulp visibly.

But the man just said, "Hello. I'm one of the security guards. I noticed you've been standing here for a long time. Are you lost?"

I noticed his uniform and relaxed.

"Well, kind of," said Stacey. "We're waiting for our parents."

"What are the names of the people in your party so I can ask searching parents?" the guard asked. He pulled out a pad and pencil.

"Call it the Brewer-Thomas party," Kristy jumped in. "I'm Kristy Thomas. These are my friends. We're members of a club called the Baby-Sitters Club." Kristy reached into her jeans pocket for a flier. "We meet Mon-"

"Thank you," the guard interrupted, ignoring the flier. "I'll look around for your parents. You're best staying right here."

The guard left. Kristy looked at us and shrugged.

Just then, another man appeared.

"Hi," said Karen. "Are you a guard, too?"

The man grunted. "Yeah," he said.

But there was something odd about this man. I squinted at him from behind my bifocals. His brown hair stood up in messy spikes. He was scowling, beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, and his clothes were messy.

Wait a minute. He wasn't wearing a guard uniform!

Karen noticed this, too. "You are not a guard," she said. "You are not wearing a uniform!"

The man glared at Karen – and the next thing we knew, he pulled out a gun! He aimed it right at Karen's heart… and pulled the trigger!

But instead of hitting Karen, the bullet ricocheted around her and struck Dorianne Wallingford! Dori gasped, and fell to the ground.

The man looked around at all of us. Mary Anne was sobbing, Dawn and Stacey were screaming. Me, I'm not sure _how _I was reacting. I just felt faint.

Then the man … spoke.

"One word," he said. "And it will be the same to each of you."

He ran off.


End file.
